I laid down in a hollow hill,
where grasses hush and time stands still.
The mound embraced me, soft and deep,
and folded me in wondrous sleep.
No shadow touched my slumbered grace,
for light was there, a Sunlit place.
It filled the Earth with gentle fire,
like dawn within a womb of mire.
I dreamt of roots and wind and rain,
of blossoms breaking through the plain.
The world turned slow above my bed,
while I grew brighter, though still dead.
No darkness touched my slumbered grace,
for light was there, a Sunlit place.
It filled the mound with warming fire,
like life within a womb of mire.
I dreamt of roots and wind and rain,
of flowers breaking through the plain.
The world turned slow above my head,
while I grew lighter, though still dead.
Then springtime stirred the ancient door,
and I returned to stand once more.
Not ghoul nor wight, but leaf and flame,
the Elf I was, yet not the same.
Then springtime stirred the mossy door,
and I returned to walk once more.
Not ghost nor wraith, but leaf and flame,
myself I was, yet not the same.